Our Children's Children (12 page)

“I'm sorry, Mr. Black,” said Alice.

“Don't mind me,” said Black. “I'm not the intellectual sort. I'm just an educated cop. Steve will tell you that.”

26

The Reverend Dr. Angus Windsor was a good man. He stood in grace and was distinguished in good works. He was pastor of a church that had its roots in wealth, a long history and a certain elegance and yet this did not prevent him from going where the need was greatest—outside his own parish, certainly, for in that particular parish there was little need. He was seen in the ghettos and he was present where the young demonstration marchers fell beneath the rain of clubs wielded by police. When he heard of a family that had need of food he showed up at the door with a bag of groceries and before he left managed to find a few dollars in his pockets that he could get along without. He was a regular visitor at prisons, and the lonely old folks put away to die in rest homes were familiar with his stately tread, his stooped shoulders, his long white hair and patient face. That he was not at all averse to good publicity, sometimes even seemed to court it, was held against him by some of the influential members of his congregation, who subscribed to the belief that this characteristic was unseemly in him, but he went his way with no attention paid to this criticism; once he was supposed to have told an old, dear friend that it was a small price to pay for the privilege of doing good—although whether he meant the publicity or the criticism was not entirely clear.

So it was thought by the newsmen present not at all unusual when, late in the evening, he appeared at the site where the tunnel had been closed upon the emergence of the monsters.

The newsmen clustered around the old man.

“What are you doing here, Dr. Windsor?” asked one of them.

“I came,” said Dr. Angus, “to offer to these poor souls the small shreds of comfort it is in my power to dispense. I had a slight amount of trouble with the military. I understand they are letting no one in. But I see they let you people in.”

“Some of us talked our way in. Others parked a mile or so away and walked.”

“The good Lord interceded for me,” said Dr. Angus, “and they let me through the barricade.”

“How did He intercede for you?”

“He softened their hearts toward me and then they let me go. But now I must speak to these poor folks.”

He motioned at the scattered groups of refugees standing in the yards and along the street.

The dead monster lay upon its back, with its clawed feet sticking in the air and its limp tentacles lying snakelike along the ground. Most of the human bodies at the tunnel mouth had been moved. A few still lay here and there, shadowed lumps upon the grass, covered by blankets. The gun lay where it had been toppled on its side.

“The army is sending out a team,” said one of the newsmen, “to haul in the monster. They want to have a good look at him.”

The spotlights mounted in the trees cast a ghastly radiance over the area where the tunnel mouth had lain. Off in the darkness the generator engine coughed and sputtered. Trucks pulled in, loaded up and left. On occasion the bullhorn still roared out its orders.

Dr. Windsor, with an instinct born of long practice, headed unerringly for the largest group of refugees, huddled at an intersection beneath a swaying streetlamp. Most of them were standing on the pavement, but others sat upon the curbs and there were small groups of them scattered on the lawns.

Dr. Windsor came up to a group of women—he always zeroed in on women; they were more receptive to his particular brand of Christianity than were men.

“I have come,” he said, making a conscious effort to hold down his pomposity, “to offer you the comfort of the Lord. In times like this, we should always turn to Him.”

The women stared at him in some amazement. Some of them instinctively backed away.

“I'm the Reverend Windsor,” he told them, “and I came from Washington. I go where I am called. I go to meet a need. I wonder, would you pray with me?”

A tall, slender grandmotherly woman stepped to the forefront of the group. “Please go away,” she said.

Dr. Windsor fluttered his hands, stricken off balance. “But I don't understand,” he said. “I only meant.…”

“We know what you meant,” the woman told him, “and we thank you for the thought. We know it was only kindness in you.”

“You can't mean what you are saying,” said Dr. Windsor, who, by now, was flustered. “You cannot hope, by your word alone, to deprive all the others.…”

A man came thrusting through the crowd and seized the pastor by the arm. “My friend,” he said, “let us keep it down.”

“But this woman.…”

“I know. I heard what you said to her. It is not her choice only. She speaks for the rest of us.”

“I fail to understand.”

“There is no need for you to understand. Now will you please go.”

“You reject me?”

“Not you, sir. Not personally. We reject the principle you stand for.”

“You reject Christianity?”

“Not Christianity alone. In the Logic Revolution of a century ago, we rejected all religions. Our non-belief is as firm a faith as is your belief. We do not thrust our principles on you. Will you please not thrust yours on us?”

“This is incredible,” said the Reverend Dr. Windsor. “I can't believe my ears. I will not believe it. There must be some mistake. I had only meant to join with you in prayer.”

“But, parson, we no longer pray.”

Dr. Windsor turned about, went blundering up the street, toward the waiting newsmen, who had trailed after him. He shook his head, bewildered. It was unbelievable. It could not be right. It was inconceivable. It was blasphemous.

After all the years of man's agony, after all the searching for the truth, after all the saints and martyrs, it could not come to this!

27

General Daniel Foote, commandant at Fort Myer, was waiting for them with the three men in his office.

“You should not have come alone,” he said to Wilson. “I said so to the President, but he would not listen. I offered to send an escort, but he vetoed the idea. He said he wanted to draw no attention to the car.”

“There was little traffic on the road,” said Wilson.

The commandant shook his head. “These are unsettled times,” he said.

“General Foote, may I present Miss Alice Gale. Her father is the man who contacted us.”

The general said, “I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Gale. These three gentlemen have told me something of your father. And Mr. Black. I'm glad you are along with them.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Black.

“I should like the privilege,” Alice said, “of introducing my own people. Dr. Hardwicke, Dr. Nicholas Hardwicke, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Black. Dr. Hardwicke is a sort of Albert Einstein of our time.”

The big, ungainly, bear-like man smiled at her. “You must not praise me unduly, my dear,” he said. “They'll expect far too much of me. Gentlemen, I am very pleased to be here and to meet you. It is time we were getting on in this matter which must be somewhat unpleasant to you. I am glad to see you reacting so promptly and so positively. Your president must be a most unusual man.”

“We think so,” Wilson said.

“Dr. William Cummings,” said Alice. “Dr. Hardwicke was a fellow townsman of ours, but Dr. Cummings came from the Denver region. My father and the others thought it would be best if he were with Dr. Hardwicke when they met your scientists.”

Cummings was a shrimp—small, bald, with a wrinkled, elfin face. “I am glad to be here,” he said. “We all are glad to be here. We must tell you how deeply we regret what happened at the tunnel.”

“And, finally,” said Alice, “Dr. Abner Osborne. He is a longtime family friend.”

Osborne put an arm about the girl's shoulders and hugged her. “These other gentlemen,” he said, “are physicists, but I'm a more lowly creature. I am a geologist. Tell me, my dear, how is your father? I looked for him after we came through, but couldn't seem to find him.”

The commandant plucked at Wilson's sleeve and the press secretary moved to one side with him.

“Tell me,” said General Foote, “what you know of the monster.”

“We've heard nothing further. We have assumed it would head for the mountains.”

Foote nodded. “I think you may be right. We have had a few reports. Not reports, really. More like rumors. They all came from the west. Harpers Ferry. Strasburg. Luray. They must be wrong. Nothing could travel that fast. Are you absolutely sure there was only one of them?”

“You should know,” said Wilson, curtly. “Your men were there. Our report was that one was killed. The other got away.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Foote. “We are bringing in the dead one.”

The general was upset, thought Wilson. He was jittery. Was there something he knew that the White House did not know?

“Are you trying to tell me something, General?”

“No. Not at all,” he said.

The son of a bitch, Wilson told himself. All he was doing was trying to wangle something straight out of the White House. Something that, at some later time, he could talk about when he was sitting in the officers' club.

“I think,” said Wilson, “that we had best get started.”

Outside they got into the car, Black in front with the driver, Wilson and Osborne on the jump seats.

“You may think it strange,” said Osborne, “that there's a geologist in the group.”

“I had wondered,” Wilson said. “Not that you aren't welcome.”

“It was thought,” said Osborne, “that there might be some questions about the Miocene.”

“About us going there, you mean. About us going back as well as you.”

“It is one way in which the problem could be solved.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you were fairly sure some of the monsters would get through? That enough of them might get through that we'd be forced to leave?”

“Certainly not,” said the geologist. “We had hoped none would get through. We'd set up precautions. I can't imagine what could have happened. I'm not inclined to think that this single monster.…”

“But you don't know.”

“You're right. They're monstrous clever things. Very capable. Some of our biologists could tell you more.”

“Then why this feeling we should go back into the Miocene?”

“You're nearing a danger point,” said Osborne. “Our historians could explain it better than I can, but all the signs are there. Oh, I know that now you've been switched over to a different time track and will travel a different road than we. But I think that the changeover may have come too late.”

“What you're talking about is the economic and social collapse. Alice told us Washington, up in your time, is gone. I suppose New York, as well, and Chicago and all the rest.…”

“You're top-heavy,” said Osborne. “You've gotten out of balance. I think it's gone too far to stop. You have a runaway economy and the social cleavages are getting deeper by the day and.…”

“And going back to the Miocene would put an end to it?”

“It would be a new start.”

“I'm not so sure,” said Wilson.

Up in the front, Black raised his voice. “It's time for the President's speech. Shall I turn on the radio?”

He didn't wait for anyone to say he should. He turned it on.

The President was talking.

“… little I can tell you. So I shall not keep you long. We still are in the process of sorting out the facts and I would be doing you a disservice if I told you less, or more, than facts. You may be assured that your government will level with you. As soon as we know anything for certain, you shall know it, too. We'll pass it on to you.

“These things we do know. Up in the future, some five hundred years from now, our descendants were attacked by an alien race. For twenty years or more our people held them off, but it became apparent that they could not stand against them indefinitely. Retreat was called for, out there was only one place they could retreat. Quite fortunately, they had been able to develop time travel and so it was possible for them to retreat in time. This they did, coming back to us. They do not intend to stay here; as soon as possible they intend to go back, far deeper into time. But to do this they need our help. Not only our help in building the time tunnels they will need, but our help in supplying the bare basics which will enable them to start over again. For economic reasons which everyone must understand, we, in conjunction with the rest of the world, cannot refuse to help them. Not that we would refuse in any case. They are our children's children, several times removed. They are our flesh and blood and we cannot withhold assistance. How we will go about the helping of them is now under consideration. There are problems and they must and will be solved. There must be no delay and our effort must be wholehearted. It will call for sacrifice and devotion from every one of you. There are many details which you should be told, many questions which must occur to you. These all will be fully given and fully answered later; there is not the time to put them all before you this evening. After all, this all began happening only a few hours ago. It has been a busy Sunday.”

The voice was confident, resonant, with no hint of desperation—and, thought Wilson, there must be in the man a certain sense of desperation. But he was still the old competent campaigner, the polished politician. He still could sell himself, still could reassure the nation. Hunched forward on the jump seat, Wilson felt a sudden surge of pride in him.

“All of you know by now,” the President was saying, “that two of the aliens came through a tunnel in Virginia. One of them was killed, the other one escaped. I must be honest with you and say that we have had no subsequent word of it. We are pressing all efforts to find and destroy it and while it may take a little time, we will do exactly that. I ask you most urgently not to place too much emphasis upon the fact that an alien is loose upon the Earth. It is only one of the many problems that we face tonight, and not the most important. Given the sort of cooperation that I know we can expect from you, we will solve them all.”